


Best Sunday Dress

by FreshBrains



Series: Femslash 100 Drabble tag 6 [123]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: femslash100, F/F, POV Narcissa Black Malfoy, Post-Canon, Secret Relationship, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5609278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pansy Parkinson, pretty, dark-haired Pansy with her high heels and sleek makeup, queen of the Slytherin-bred and pure-blood elite, has never bothered to hide her darkness. She wears it like a crown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Sunday Dress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [killing_kurare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killing_kurare/gifts).



> For the Femslash100 Drabble Tag 6 prompt: Narcissa/Pansy - silk.

There will always be a _need_ inside of Narcissa, an undeniable thirst for darkness. It isn’t evil, and it isn’t anything to do with her wizardry—it’s something more innate, something primal, something that existed long before Lucius or the Death Eaters.

She can push it down. She’s _always_ pushed it down, especially after Draco was born. A mother knows when to protect her child.

But Pansy Parkinson, pretty, dark-haired Pansy with her high heels and sleek makeup, queen of the Slytherin-bred and pure-blood elite, has never bothered to hide her darkness. She wears it like a crown.

“Have you no _shame_?” She shoves Pansy up against the foyer wall, eager to wrap the girl’s leg around her waist. Her skirt is so obscenely short that Narcissa can see the wine-red silk of her underwear beneath the hem, the front already fragrant with the soak of her arousal. “You come into my home like a _harlot_ , like some Muggle streetwalker, expecting…”

“Expecting _what_ , Mrs. Malfoy?” Pansy twists her expression into mock-innocence, eyes wide. She maneuvers their bodies together so her knee presses into Narcissa’s own swollen core. “War’s over, dearest. No need for secrets anymore.”

 _This must always be a secret_ , Narcissa thinks, but instead, she clashes their lips together in a harsh kiss. “You’ll be the death of me,” she murmurs, hands shoving beneath Pansy’s top.

“I think you’ll survive,” Pansy says, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she slides to her knees, hands sliding beneath Narcissa’s dress.


End file.
